


Trashed

by sharp2799



Category: Dead Zone
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 15:04:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharp2799/pseuds/sharp2799
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wakes up hung over. (Rated M for language and drinking.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trashed

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2007 and not hugely plugged into the show by that time, this was written to see if I could give Ruralstar at LJ a decent birthday present. So...it's an early work.
> 
> :)

“Johnny? Hey, J-Man, wake up.”

“Wha-?” John opened bleary eyes.

“Too much partying?” Bruce gestured at all the empty beer bottles with a quizzical smile.

“No. I mean, no more than one or two.” His muscles protested as he hoisted himself upright on the couch. His stomach rolled, then settled.

“Uh, John? More than two bottles here. You had a party?”

“Party? No, no party.” He rubbed his eyes and tried to get up but wobbled. “Whoa.”

Bruce grabbed him and eased him back. “Coffee in a few minutes. Stay there.”

He was only too happy to comply. Gazing at the table, he counted six—no, seven opened bottles, although not all were empty. What the fuck happened last night? He brooded until a dark green mug was waved under his nose. He jerked back, then took it from Bruce.

“Thanks.”

“De nada.” Bruce sat in a chair. “So…anything?”

John inhaled the scent of coffee before taking a sip. Then another. “Not a clue.”

They sat in silence until he finished the cup and put it among the beer bottles. Hesitantly, he rubbed his fingers together, then reached out and touched the nearest bottle—

— _and there he was, standing under a streetlight in a park with a full moon high above_.

He let go of the bottle.

Bruce waited.

He grabbed the bottle by the neck—

— _and was back in the park, the air cold, crisp, speaking of autumn. Wood smoke from houses in the distance tickled his nose and he breathed deep, feeling the bittersweet passing of time growing into the barren sleep of winter_.

“Crap. It’s spring now, isn’t it?” His bloodshot eyes glared at Bruce.

Bruce nodded. “Yep. Where is it there?”

“Fall.”

“I like fall. Continuity of life stuff. It’s very clear in the fall.”

“It’s clear in the spring too.”

“Yeah, but different. Fall is closer to the end. It’s beautiful and loud, with color and scents and just,” Bruce waved his hands, “just goes out with a bang before the sleep time, you know?”

“The sleep time?” John cocked an eyebrow. “Death?”

“Circle of life, right? So, any people in the vision?”

“No.”

The doorbell rang, making him cringe. Bruce smiled and went to answer it. John heard low voices, then Bruce returned with Walt in tow.

“Trashed, John?” Walt grinned.

“Apparently.”

“Any idea why?”

John leaned back with a sigh. “Nope.”

“Well, sorry to interrupt your hangover, but I could use a little direction.” Walt unfolded the newspaper he was carrying and pointed to an article.

John reached for it, touched the page and—

— _Dried leaves crackled under his feet as he walked. The lampposts illuminated the path and the moon spread the field out on either side with dark walls of trees in the distance. He continued walking. Then a hand clutched his sleeve and he turned to face a radiant old woman_.

_“Will you help me?”_

“John? John?”

Fuzzily, he shook off Bruce and Walt, waving away scenes of Walt eating toast while Sarah made JJ’s lunch and Bruce getting gas at the Shell station.

“One vision at a time, guys,” he muttered, and they backed off. He rubbed his eyes.

Bruce leaned forward. “Want more coffee?”

“Yeah. Let me—I’ll be right back.” He staggered to the bathroom. By the time he returned there was a fresh cup waiting.

“Okay, hit me.”

Walt’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. “Tempting.” Clearing his throat, he read, “Emily Trudeau, 72, owner of Memories in Autumn, disappeared, according to her nephew, Peter Grant.”

“Stop.” John looked at Bruce. “Memories in Autumn?”

Bruce nodded. “I never thought of that. It’s a cool store, two towns over. Does pretty good from the looks of the neighborhood.”

“Yes it does.” Walt looked from one to the other. “What’s going on?”

John passed a hand through his hair. “You tell me. I wake up wasted, touched one of the beer bottles and suddenly it’s autumn at night in a park.” He sighed. “You got a picture of her?”

Walt folded the newspaper over. “Here.”

“Yeah. She showed up in the last vision. Asked me to help her.”

“Why did you need to get drunk?” asked Walt.

“Damned if I know.”

“Interesting vision,” said Bruce. “You interpreted the store as the actual season.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So maybe we should pay a visit to the store.”

* * *

Two hours later they stood outside. Sweat broke out on John’s forehead.

“You okay?”

John wasn’t even sure who spoke. “Holy crap. I’m supposed to go into a store filled with memories? And—” A glimpse of something tugged at his thoughts. He closed his eyes for a minute, exhaled, then looked at both of them. “I was here. Last night. Geez.” He leaned against the Jeep. “I remember now. I walked in and got hit with everything. I thought my brain was gonna short circuit. I barely got myself out of there. I picked up a couple of six packs and then—” He shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Why did you come here in the first place?” asked Walt.

Before he could speak, a woman walked out of the store. She was petite and elderly, with white hair and a surprisingly brisk step.

“John, are you all right?”

It was the woman in his vision and the newspaper.

“Ms. Trudeau?” Walt put his official face on.

“Oh dear, I had hoped we would be able to stop the story from running. It was all a misunderstanding.”

“You were missing for over 48 hours.”

“Well, not missing. I—we just didn’t tell my nephew. We thought he was going to be away and he’d never know we were even gone so it seemed like the perfect time to do it.”

“Do what?” Bruce asked. He had a grin on his face.

“Get married.” A trim older man stepped up beside her. “Her nephew thinks Emily is too old to be in love. So when he said he was going to be away for a few days, we ran to City Hall and then headed over the state line to a B&B for our honeymoon.” The couple smiled at the three men.

“We got back last night,” said Emily, picking up the story. “When John came into the store, I asked him if he’d help me move a box and then he had such a terrible headache and had to leave.” She turned to him. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he smiled. “I’m feeling a lot better.”

She sighed. “Good. And thank you again for moving that box, it really was an eyesore. And nothing anyone really wanted anyway.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, what was in it?” asked Bruce.

“Oh, just some odds and ends from a neighbor before he moved to Florida. Nothing of any real value but he needed the money. Drank most of it away.”

“He drank?”

“Like a fish.” She looked at the three men who were grinning. “Is that funny?”

Walt shook his head. “No, not at all. But I’m going to have to ask you to drop by the station and clear the paperwork on you. Otherwise every police car will be trying to bring you in as found.”

“Oh, of course.” The couple shook hands before heading back into the store.

“John?”

“Yes, Walt?”

“Feeling less trashed now?”

John flipped him a finger as they all got into the Jeep.

\--End--


End file.
